


In Flagrante Delicto

by Bekaylo



Series: Arezzo [5]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Comfort/Angst, Drink Spiking, HYDRA Husbands, Homophobic Language, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Infidelity, Internalized Homophobia, Jealousy, M/M, Past Abuse, Past Rape/Non-con, Rumlow/Rollins, Summer Vacation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-16
Updated: 2016-01-16
Packaged: 2018-05-14 08:08:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5736055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bekaylo/pseuds/Bekaylo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Brock watched as his Italian companion ordered him a coffee and a light salad. Brock’s nose and throat were still a little raw from the pool chlorine, he was more refreshed than in the first hours post-flight and the idea of a snack was pleasant.<br/>This was not unusual, he had shared a quick drink with men he had hooked up with on two or three occasions. What was unusual was the tone of this particular hook up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Flagrante Delicto

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to mollynoble for a very thorough beta/edit. 
> 
> Part Five of Arezzo.

Brock watched as his Italian companion ordered him a coffee and a light salad. The man was dressed in a light shirt and canvas pants for the hot summer day. His arms were nicely muscled, he wore shades on his head and it seemed a lot less sleazy sitting here with him that it probably was. Brock’s nose and throat were still a little raw from the pool chlorine, he was more refreshed than in the first hours post-flight and the idea of a snack was pleasant. This was not unusual, he had shared a quick drink with men he had hooked up with on two or three occasions. What was unusual was the tone of this particular hook up.

The man had introduced himself as Raffaello Panichelli. Brock shook his proffered hand as he sat opposite him outside the cafe and told him his name.

“You were watching me earlier,” he added, watching the man’s polite, friendly face.

Raffaelo shrugged. “You are very beautiful, Brock Rumlow. That is also a very unusual and beautiful name, Brock. It means ‘badger’, yes?”

It was Brock’s turn to shrug. “It does?”

“It does. So.... you are on vacation, or business?” asked Raffaelo, leaning on the table with one elbow and resting his chin on one hand.

“Vacation,” answered Brock, leaning to one side to allow a waiter to place a salad and a coffee in front of him. “Grazie,” he muttered.

Raffaelo smiled and jabbed a finger at him. “You are Italian,” he stated. He returned the hand to his chin, highlighting a handsome face and beautiful teeth. He was a dentist, it was only good business advertizing, but Brock liked his white toothed smile. It was classily done, but the man was flirting, charming him, holding him with a dazzling smile in a beautiful olive skinned face - Brock had done it himself, with exactly the same tools. He was impressed.

Brock explained about his grandmother and the reason he was here.

Raffaelo nodded. “So you came to discover your roots.”

Brock sipped his coffee. This was all rather surreal, this polite chat with the gorgeous stranger. He looked like an older version of Brock - it was like having coffee with a long lost uncle, he could be a long lost relative for all Brock knew. He was older, but Brock didn’t mind older, not since Captain Wood. Not since those three middle-aged bikers in Wichita, right after his fourth mission as STRIKE lead. There had been hell to pay with Jack when he got back to the safehouse, with his overbearing concern and his belt and his dick… fuck that was hot…

“With your partner?” Raffaelo was asking.  
Brock swallowed his coffee and put the cup down, his ears feeling warm suddenly. “Excuse me?”

“You are here with your partner? On vacation? The tall man who carried your bags from the cab?” Raffaelo was frowning slightly, still smiling, trying to ascertain exactly where he stood here. “The big man?”

“Yeah, Jack. My partner - work partner,” explained Brock.

“Boyfriend?”

Brock worked his jaw uncomfortably. His hook ups never usually asked things like that. “It’s complicated,” murmured Brock.

“It always is,” said Raffaelo. “‘Fuckbuddy’, isn’t that the term, then?”

Brock snorted softly. “Your English is very good. Yeah… fuckbuddy. And friend, he’s a buddy,”

“So… you had a disagreement? Is that why you came out here?”

“No, he wants to see a museum and I wanted some fresh air,” Brock sat back, appraising Raffaelo. “What is this? Negotiations? Is this what you usually do with hookups or clients?”

Raffaelo smiled serenely. He was very laid back, it seemed. “No, I usually have my clients refer to my receptionist with dental payment plans - I am a dentist. My hook ups… what I prefer to know is I am not going to have my head ripped off by a jealous lover or boyfriend. Especially one that looks like your ‘buddy’ Jack. What is he? What are you both? Soldiers or something?”

“No.” said Brock. This was very unsafe territory, but Brock had at least some idea of how to field questions like that. Sometimes guys had asked him if he was in the military - well he knew he looked like it, he worked damn hard to look the way he did. “That is, I was, I used to be in the Army. Jack was in the Navy. We work for a security company now, in DC.”

“So if I invite you back to my place I am not going to need to settle my affairs first?”

“You’re inviting me back to yours?”

“Unless you want to do it somewhere else - up an alley, perhaps?” Raffaelo chuckled, like that was a ridiculous suggestion and Brock wouldn’t want such a thing. As it happened, he had enjoyed numerous such encounters, in alleys. But at night, not on a bright summer noontime and not with such a smooth, fascinating man.

“You want to come back with me?” Raffaelo was still smiling beatifically.

“Yes. Yes I do,” replied Brock, decisively.

 

It was a pleasant, well appointed apartment, ten minutes walk from the Piazza Grande. A nineteenth century suburban area, without the medieval character of the building in the town center, but old world stylish to Brock’s eyes. Not that he was concentrating too much on the architecture, once in Raffaelo’s apartment he was all over the man, helping him shed his clothes, letting him help him in shedding his own.

His body was lean and well muscled, good for a man of his age.

“You work out?” asked Brock, breathlessly, running his hands over the Raffaelo’s sides and back. He never really looked that much at his hook ups, but this was different. It felt natural and good, like Raffaelo deserved some time and interaction.

“I do,” Raffaelo had his hands on Brock’s shoulders and was looking him up and down appreciatively. “But not the way you do, I think. You have scars… you have been a brave boy,”

“I guess. You can try me,” Brock nuzzled under Raffaelo’s jawline. He felt the man was holding him at arm’s length, somehow, not coming right in, grabbing him. Not that Raffaelo would have been able to keep Brock back in terms of physical strength, but Brock just felt he was holding back. He was used to people just grabbing and manhandling - Jack included except when he was doing his sappy stuff when Brock was tired or drunk.

“You can hurt me if you like,” Brock whispered in Raffaelo’s ear. Raffaelo seemed to consider for a moment. Then he ducked his head down, kissing Brock’s nipples, settling his mouth around the left one to suckle for a moment, nipping at the areola lightly.

He felt Brock stretch his back, heard a contented moan and a soft grunt.

“You like that?” asked Raffaelo, though it was obvious he did. He put his arms firmly around Brock’s waist and finally pulled him close, pressing them firmly together. Brock wore a slightly feral aroused look, the skin around his eyes crinkling and his breath hitching as his already very obvious erection rubbed against Raffaelo’s.

“You like this?” asked Raffaelo, grinding more emphatically and stroking the small of Brock's back with his fingertips.

“You gonna fuck me now?” asked Brock. He glanced around to ascertain whether there was something close to bend over or lie on or lean against.

“I am going to worship you,” Raffaelo informed him, laughing a little at the bemused expression on Brock’s face. “Don’t you like that?”

Brock considered. He guessed he knew what Raffaelo meant, he meant make out a little. He and Jack did that. There were times when Jack wanted to take things all slow and spend time stroking him and fingering him achingly slowly. Saying shit that sounded really queer, calling him ‘baby’ and ‘princess’ and even ‘pookie’. It was just Jack, he got into those moods sometimes and there was no real harm, Brock owed Jack a lot. No harm in letting him do that sometimes.

Raffaelo was a novelty. It was a novelty standing with someone he didn't have to look up to, up real close without reaching up to hold them or standing on tiptoes to nuzzle their neck. It was a novelty hooking up with a stranger and even exchanging names, let alone have lunch and talk and make out slowly here.

At the same time, there was a tiny little thud in the pit of his stomach as he thought of Jack. Like he shouldn't be here, this level of involvement was for Jack, he should be with Jack.

But then Raffaelo was groping his ass so gently it almost tickled and nibbling his ear so softly it was CUTE and he went with it. He was on vacation, after all.

 

********

Raffaelo smiled indulgently down at Brock, leaning up on one elbow. The younger, American man was truly a delight, all flushed and glowing in the soft light, his brown eyes had lost that hard look Raffaelo had noticed outside the cafe. After the sex he had melted delightfully. He was still in some denial, but a delight nonetheless. It was cute.

“So, no, I’m not gay,” he was saying. “I just like men, they’re harder and rougher. My old Captain in…” he paused and licked the corner of his mouth. Even his tongue was pretty - and what he could do with that...

“My old captain in the - the military, he taught me a lot about what’s gay and what’s just good. Fucking a man’s ass with a strapon, doesn't make him gay...If it’s a dick it’s not gay for that matter, if the guy isn’t a faggot.”

“Ah, is that so,” Raffaelo stroked a finger from his free hand over Brock’s cheekbone, such a divine bone structure. “Did your captain often fuck you in the ass?”

Brock turned over more towards Raffaelo, confiding. “Quite often, Mostly I just sucked him off. I’ve never told anyone about that. Not even Jack.”

“Jack… that is a fine looking man. You are going to tell me he not gay either?”

Brock frowned a little, “He’s just Jack,” said Brock. “But yeah, he is. Fine looking,”

“But you are here,” Raffaelo moved to lie more on top of Brock and very gently grind his hips against Brock’s. A flicker of pleasure crossed Brock’s thoughtful face and his dick twitched and started to spark to life with the delicious friction against Raffaelo's. “I think I should let you go back to your Jack,” said Raffaelo. “I think that is where...you should be.” he kissed Brock’s cheek. “But I give you a parting gift, hmmm?”

“...yeah, gift… a fuck…” breathed Brock and raised his knees, using his thighs to pull Raffaello's lower body and therefore dick down to his ass.

“I shall worship you,” chuckled Raffaelo.”Such a beautiful, strong boy,”

 

 

It was strange afterwards, but not initially in pleasant. Brock showered and redressed, preparing to take his leave. Usually there was little in the way of goodbye, or we should do this again sometime. If he was at someone’s place or they got a room one or other would grunt and leave. If it was literally in an alley or outside spot - like that time an aging ex-Marine fucked him behind a dumpster just before Christmas in New York. Jack gave him so much shit about that, partly because it was a Marine, Brock had assumed at the time. Perhaps he might have been jealous, Brock conceded, now.

Raffaelo, in a bathrobe gave Brock a big, bright smile as he approached.

“So, you had a good time?” he asked. Brock felt strangely shy as Raffaelo came up and kissed him on the forehead, pinching his cheeks and finally embracing him.

“Yes, yes I did,” said Brock, and kissed Raffaelo’s cheek. It was weird and awkward, he was never going to see this man again, presumably - which was not unusual for him, but somehow not the way he felt was appropriate for someone who had been so nice to him, sex aside.

But he was on vacation and he was here with Jack, he was going to go back to the hotel and join Jack, see the fucking museum or statues or whatever. He was going to go home to the States with Jack and they were going to resume their lives. That as what Brock wanted, he realized, just what he had with Jack…

He cursed, then went slack jawed with astonishment to see Jack Rollins bursting into the room, bearing down on them like a freight train.

 

His arm swung to back hand Brock out of the way, Brock ducked but his shoulder caught the impact and he was still batted sideways by Jack's weight. Brock was expert at dodging blows, particularly Jack’s, but if any landed, the weight of Jack behind them was a problem. Brock grabbed at Jack's arm to stay in close proximity to Raffaelo. Because Raffaelo was the intended target.

Raffaelo stared in shock, Jack having burst in and borne down on them in seeming slow motion. He was not accustomed to this kind of behaviour, he did not hang around with these kind of people. He was a dentist and this was unsettling. Taking advantage of the fact that Brock had managed to grab Jack’s attention momentarily, Raffaelo moved on instinct, darted back and began to skirt around the pair of them.

Jack roared something, “You fucking asshole gigolo fucking-fuck…!” and made another grab at the man. Brock, bending his knees and using all his weight, slammed his shoulder into Jack to knock him off balance and allow Raffaelo to make it past them. Then he wrapped his arms around Jack’s waist and spread his stance, digging his heels in.

“Jack! Stop!” he cried.

“I’m calling the police!” yelled Raffaelo,from the doorway. “Hang on Brock!” he turned and fled.

Jack snarled and began wrenching himself out of Brock’s grasp. “Gonna kill him!”

“Jack! Enough!” gasped Brock. “We’ve got to get out! We have to get out now!” he assumed his Commander voice and it seemed to cut through Jack’s rage for the moment. He was always sensible, pragmatic and professional for that tone at work, and it was habit for him to take heed momentarily. He stopped struggling and grabbed Brock’s arms to wrestle them off.

They looked at each other for a moment, Jack still simmering with jealousy rage and Brock ready to placate him, moving away a little. There was the sound of a police siren and galvanized both of them; they ran for the door and were down the stairs and out of a back entrance to the apartment building in less than half a minute.

Jack grabbed Brock when they were by a sidestreet off the road to the back of the apartment. He hustled him into the narrow alleyway, slamming him into a wall face-first and twisting both his arms up behind him. “Fucker!” he hissed, into Brock’s ear. The situation and the grunt of pain he had heard when Brock hit the wall had a not unusual effect on Jack. He started fumbling with Brock's pants at once,dragging them down over his hips.

Brock thought this was his dream come true,stunned and endorphins kicking in from the impact against the wall. He was getting hard again from Jack actually seeking him out and reacting this way. For a moment it seemed Jack was pretty carried away with the situation, horny and aggressive with rage. He was groping Brock’s bare ass ,Brock actually grinding because this is usually his recreation with strangers. Jack abruptly rammed three fingers into him, muttering in a way that Brock did not notice was despairing; Brock arched his back and groaned loudly, caught in his favourite state between pain and pleasure.

 

Enraged at Brock and at his own arousal, Jack reached around and gave Brock’s scrotum a viscous, squeeze.

A sharp yelp of pain escaped Brock and he twisted in Jack’s grasp. For once it went to Jack’s thinking-brain, a split second before his dick. This was exactly why they were here, because Jack didn't want this all the time. He swiftly flipped Brock around to face him, hemming him in with his back now against the wall.

Brock ran his tongue over his upper lip, tasting blood from his nose.

“Fuck you,” moaned Brock, “Oh Jack, you're the best,”

“The best but not the only one,” growled Jack, “The first day of our vacation you find yourself a gigolo to fuck you up.”

Brock grinned and sniggered, before looking chastened at Jack’s dangerous expression. “It wasn’t like that. He stroked me, like massage, Jack, he was a regular Italian guy – his name’s Raffaelo, he called me Broccolo when I blew him, ha-ha! – We knew each other’s names even-” Brock ran a hand under his nose.

“You told him your actual fucking name?!” Jack growled.

“I didn’t tell him what I do,”

“You idiot, you- put yourself at risk-”

“Jack, I’m a Hydra trained field operative and a highly skilled-”

“You’re a highly stupid dickbag – putting yourself and the organisation at risk because you’re such a fucking cock-slut!”

“I wasn’t… I’m not a cock-slut…fuck you,”

“You are! And you put yourself at risk… you’re twenty seven years old, Brock, not a kid anymore,  
you need to act like a grown up!”

Brock nibbled the callous at the end of his thumb nervously, Jack’s words sinking in.

“We risk our lives in our job and you want to be fucked by a fucking Italian Gigolo or whatever and risk yourself like that? Go back to a random stranger’s apartment? Risk being compromised – risk exposing the organisation? Pierce would kill you, and me for letting you… and it’d be one thing you dying on the job, I don’t know what I’d do anyway… but being murdered by some random psycho who lures you with sex… you’ve got to stop all this, Brock, just stop…”

Jack ran a hand through his hair and took a step back, assessing Brock and the dishevelled mess he was in. Pants down, blood under his nose. Sordid fucking mess.

“I can’t deal with this anymore.” said Jack. “If you wanna behave this way on your own time - I can’t be any part of it. I can’t be cleaning you up when you’ve been fighting and fucking and fuck knows what. I’m done with this, done with being with you like this. You’re - you’re a fucking mess, Brock. Get a psych eval and get help - you’re on the next plane back home, I can’t be involved with you like this. Enough.”

Brock had been staring at him throughout this speech, his face going from shock to dismay.“You won’t be fuckbuddies with me?” he exclaimed.

“NO, no more fuckbuddies, especially if that’s what you still think it is,” said Jack, firmly.  
Brock pushed himself off the wall, two hands reaching out to grasp Jack’s upper arms, pants down and Jack couldn't help but feel a sharp twinge of guilt. It turned into the usual compassion as Brock, snivelling, began to entreat him.

”I can’t do without you,please, don’t dump me. Okay, I'm queer for you, I’ll say it. I’m not a fucking fairy but I’m gay for you, like a boyfriend. I hate it, I’m not a fag - I was in the Army, you can’t be a fag in the Army - I thought it was okay to be with you, as fuckbuddies because you’re my best friend, my only real friend. But you don't understand you don’t know what they think, they do, my Army friends were horrible about faggots. HE was a bastard, Jack, not like you, please, don’t dump me. I’ll be good, I’ll do better,”

Jack automatically put his arms over Brock’s shoulders, holding him gently and shushing. He had not meant to cause this, reduce him to this. He knew he couldn’t work and be friends with Brock and not be involved like this and simmered down, getting more sympathetic. Brock had used the term ‘boyfriend’.

“Okay, okay. Fuck it, Brock, shush,” murmured Jack. He put his hands either side of Brock’s face. “Come on, pull your pants up. I’m not ‘dumping’ you. I was just mad, I was just mad… come on, it’s okay,”

Brock sighed deeply and fumbled his squeezed balls and aching boner back into his underwear, pulling up his pants and standing there, defeated looking.

“What happened in the Army, Brock?” asked Jack. “Who was ‘HE’? What happened?”

“Not here,” muttered Brock. “Not here,”

“Come on, you owe me something, some fucking honesty,”

“All right, but not here,” Brock looked up at Jack with a tired, earnest expression. “I’ll tell you back at the hotel.”

Jack kept one arm around Brock’s shoulders and began to lead him further up the alley.

“How do you even know where we’re going?” murmured Brock. “How did you find me, anyway?”

“Your phone, you idiot,” sighed Jack. “And don't I always know where we’re going?”

Brock nodded, it was true. He couldn’t do without Jack.

 

Back at the hotel, they sat on the sofa like adults, being reasonable. Brock was soon lying with his head in Jack’s lap, however, opening up and telling him more than he had ever told anyone. Answering Jack’s questions about Captain Wood initially.

“I sucked him off sometimes,” shrugged Brock. “Took your advice and made the most of his interest in me,”

“My advice?!”

“Yeah and I was his SIC after six months… it paid off. Twenty-five years old, Jack, didn’t you think it was young?”

“He told me that he advanced you like that because you were ‘driven’ He said that he knew I was pretty special but that I didn’t want that kind of responsibility right then. He was right. I thought he was just a good commander and judge of potential STRIKE team leads, and seconds,” said Jack. “I didn’t know he made you blow him – fuck!”

Brock tapped Jack’s arm, wanting him to let him turn over and face him.

“He didn’t make me,” said Brock, squirming around to turn on Jack’s lap. “Well the first time he said I could suck his dick or get the shit beaten out of me because I back talked him. It was supposed to put me in my place, but he let me do it when I chose to suck his dick. Couldn’t back down when he’d given me the choice, and he stuck to his word, he didn’t raise a hand to me. And I’d been a little shit all day. I used to blow him when he was getting stressed sometimes, after that. And he used to grope me, feel me up a bit, jerk me off. Taught me a lot, using strap-ons. He used to say I was his special STRIKE son and he wanted me to call him ‘daddy’. That’s more than my actual dad ever gave me, Jack. So yeah… I like someone to take charge, I was STRIKE lead at twenty-eight when Wood got killed in Ecuador, I lost a father figure and had to take his place and I need a guiding hand, I sometimes,”

“Father figure! Fucking god, Brock, that’s not a daddy, that’s sick-”

Brock reassured Jack he did not mind Captain Woods’s attentions because he didn’t make him feel gay or anything. Like he’d explained to Raffaelo, Woods had given him the idea sex with men was just a physical act, which didn’t need labels. Liking a dick up his ass did not make him queer as long as he didn’t bring any ‘romantic shit’ into it. Romantic shit, that was what had made him queer and a target before.

To Jack’s growing horror and re-surfacing of his earlier rage redirected, Brock explained about what happened in the Army, when he was twenty. When he ‘fell in love’ and acted like a complete fairy twink over someone.

Brock told Jack the whole story about Matt, the Corporal who showed him what happened when he behaved like a faggot.

 

“Thing is, Jack, I liked Matt a lot. We flirted and there were a couple of handjobs, then he asked me out, on a date. We met up at a motel.”

 

_The motel off base was small, eight tiny rooms,a separate small building where Matt got the keys to an end room. The place was off the beaten track, it looked run down and deserted. At this point it was the most romantic situation Brock had ever been in and one thing he did not forget in later years was the quiet buzz of anticipation and a warm contentment - partly due to the whiskey and shots in the bar, but also due to how he was feeling._

_He did not see the smirk on the face of the motel proprietor, had no reason to know that this was Matt’s regular haunt. A far as Brock was concerned this was a night of potential firsts, first proper date with a guy, first time going all the way. It was exciting and if they had to keep it secret all the more so - but right then he couldn’t have cared less what the world thought._

_Brock slipped his hand into Matt’s as they walked across the motel car lot to the end room. Matt smiled at him, the most beautiful smile and opened the door to the shitty little sanctuary that was theirs for the night. All Brock’s past slipped away, there was nothing to be ashamed of any more, he was on a real date with the beautiful Corporal, it was like a dream come true._

_As soon as Matt had shut the door Brock was up against him, his arms around his neck, nibbling his throat the way Matt always let him when they snatched their private moments._

_Matt chuckled. “Slow down, baby…we’ve got all the time in the world.” He disengaged himself and rummaged in the bag he had brought for cans of beer._

_Brock hovered over him, putting his hands on Matt’s waist as the other man stopped, putting several six-packs, two paper cups and a bottle of Jack Daniels on a hideous utilitarian coffee table. They were by a cheap, superficially clean couch that bore the sun-fading and indelible staining of decades. It might as well be a suite in a five star hotel the way Brock was perceiving things, he was high on happiness and physical attraction. He was falling in love, he guessed, like people in books and films, deliciously light headed._

_It was already almost like being high. Matt grinned in an indulgent way as Brock put his arms up over his shoulders again, pushing right up against him, pushing groin to groin with him and very subtly grinding. Brock’s brown eyes were shining and he turned his face up to Matt’s while nuzzling the fair skinned jawline, his hands wandering up under his shirt._

_Matt chuckled and pulled him down with him onto the couch, leaning forward in a twisted way to open the Jack Daniels, pour some into both cups and nudge Brock back when he leaned against him, pawing at his back._

_“Sit back, we’re gonna have a drink, let me do this,” he said, in a cheerful voice._

_Brock flopped back. It really was like a civilised date - he thought it was cute Matt was trying for these romantic ritual touches. Brock did not see the drinks go into the paper cups, all he knew or cared about was that there was soon a drink in his hand, which Matt had made for him. All he cared to notice then was that Matt was smiling at him over the rim of his own drink._

_After the drink Matt grinned and put his arm out and Brock leaned on him for a moment, savoring it. He nestled up and and nuzzled Matt’s neck; there was the smell of whiskey and Matt’s spicy aftershave and his hands moving to start pulling up Brock’s shirt. Brock pulled back and completed the rest of that manoeuvre eagerly. He knew Matt liked his body and remarked on his beautiful olive skin that contrasted well with his own fair complexion._

_Matt put his hands either side of Brock’s neck and lower head, thumbs caressing his cheekbones and looking thoughtful._

_“You are so pretty,” he said, quietly, as if really noticing for the first time._

_“Yeah…?” Brock pulled himself up on his knees and pushed Matt sideways and back straddling the other man’s lower body. He was stocky and already densely muscled at the age of twenty and surprisingly strong. But he was starting to feel dizzy, too much whiskey and euphoria, no doubt and Matt was a solid foundation to settle on, with a big muscular thigh to rub off on a little._

_“You eager for something?” asked Matt, in a very reassuring amused way._

_“You know I am,” said Brock ,putting his hands up Matt’s shirt again and ghosting his fingers over his nipples._

_“What might that be?” asked Matt, squirming ever so slightly from Brock’s attentions and providing an encouraging friction for his crotch with that thigh,_

_“I want you. I want you to put your dick in me,” Brock whispered in Matt’s ear._

_For some reason the couch seemed to tilt for a second, or was it Matt? At the moment Brock had made his commitment quite plain, that was when the buzzing euphoria started to take a disconcerting disjointedness._

_“I figured that’s what you want,” Matt’s voice was coming down a tunnel, it seemed, blurry. “I think that’s been pretty clear all along,”_

_Matt was pushing him on his back and removing his pants. For some reason Brock was unsettled, it was not romantic, Matt was pushing and pulling him over onto his front and fiddling with a cushion, putting it under his hips and stroking his lower back when Brock wanted to move, to ask why Matt was not holding him and kissing him and making love to him,_

_He was speaking, drinking a can of beer. There was a stain on the couch, in the shape of a pear and the couch smelled musty. There were voices, several male voices and a large, overweight man who was certainly not Matt looming over Brock and groping him._

_Then the date that had been a dream come true descended into a nightmare._

“He invited me on a fuck date – arranged a motel room.” Brock sighed sadly, Jack's hand alternating between lightly kneading Brock's shoulder and trying not to close in a fist, in waves of rage at what he was hearing. “Real romantic, problem was, when I got there he spiked my drink and brought four others over. I had to – they all took turns, Matt made me suck him off while the second one was in me,” Brock closed his eyes again, briefly. “Matt went last – in my ass, I mean and told me if I said anything about this he’d expose me as a faggot. I’d get kicked out of the Army, I thought, for that – or for any scandal – so I didn’t tell anyone. I was upset, too. I liked him, Matt… it was supposed to be our first time – fuck it was my first time, that was my first time-” Brock angrily brushed a tear; he hated showing weakness like this. But it was only Jack, and Jack was his best friend, stroking his back with his big knuckles.

“Well it took me six months, but then I got angry. I wasn’t upset when Matt got blown up, Jack. I told him to go that way… where the landmines were…”

“Good,” said Jack. “he’s gone.” Captain Wood was gone too, Jack thought to himself. Whatever Brock said, Jack knew that if their former STRIKE lead was still around he would be answering to Jack for exploiting Brock. There was also the matter of Raffaelo the Gigolo, there were rules in Hydra about fraternizing with civilians after all.  
Jack reminded Brock of that.

“I wasn’t talking about work,” stated Brock.

“No… but I think… Brock, he might know too much.” Said Jack. “He’s not going to forget us, he might talk about it.”

“I can’t off him, Jack. He was nice,” Brock frowned and pinched his fingers in the upholstery fabric.

Jack inhaled through his nose, evenly. “Well…” he leaned down and spoke gently near Brock’s ear. “You know your buddy Jack’ll always take care of things for you, don’t you, huh? Something you can’t do, I’ll do it for you…”

“Yeah… thanks, Jackie,” sighed Brock and rubbed the knuckles of his other hand lightly up and down Jack’s erection, affectionately. “But Raffaele, he’s just a gay Italian dentist, he’s not into intel or secrets or security or anything. He’s just a private man who has a secret life being a closet faggot – they’re really closeted here, Jack. He won’t talk about me, they’re really frowned on, queers, here,”

“Okay,” Jack squirmed a little under the attention from Brock’s knuckles. He kind of liked the idea of getting rid of Brock’s Italian gigolo fucker… but yeah he was probably being mean really. And Brock was his, not Raffaelo’s in any way that meant anything.

“Ok, now but now I really wanna fuck you, Brock,” Jack informed him. “Real slow and sweet,”

**Author's Note:**

> This is the penultimate segment of Arezzo.
> 
> Thank you so much to everyone who has read any of this, it has meant so much to share this strange little Hydra husbands vacation fantasy!


End file.
